


Rocky Start

by thewritingkoala, Tina0609



Series: Tom & Hanna [16]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Early Labour, F/M, Happy Ending, Pregnancy, Risky Pregnancy, child birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 10:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17160104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritingkoala/pseuds/thewritingkoala, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tina0609/pseuds/Tina0609
Summary: We're awaiting the birth of Little Hiddleston Vol. 2. Unfortunately, there are complications, Hanna is on bed rest, and we’re sorry!





	Rocky Start

She’s tired. She’s tired and bored and simply in a bad mood in general. Why? Why is it always that something goes well for once, after scandals and bruises and long nights, that now when they have little Jamie, his tiny sister decides to be as stubborn as her mother?

Hanna is 30 weeks pregnant, and she hopes it stays that way. “Early labour” the doctor’s said. Which brought Tom to a near breakdown and Jamie – now about 18 months old – to stay by his mother’s side almost constantly.

She’s been in this bed for four weeks now, standing up only for five minutes, if she has to use the bathroom. Hanna insists on this, there is no way that she stays in bed to pee.

Hanna also misses Tom, who only got three weeks off from his latest project and who was willing to be fired, just to be with her. She insisted on some sort of normal life though. So, now, she shares her house with Tom’s mother. Marriage is all about compromises after all.

She just wants to stand up. Honestly, she feels good. There’s no pain, there’s no labour, and Hanna can simply not understand how this has gone downhill so fast.

This time, they’ve both been prepared. Planned to try for another child as soon as Jamie hit the one year mark, and succeeded. And now she’s in a bed and has to stay in it for the next seven weeks at least. If she’ll make it to that point, the Little Hiddleston Vol. 2 will definitely be healthy and happy, before that mark, the chances aren’t bad, but they’d have to hope.

Right at this moment, Hanna would also kill for another glass of juice. It’s really not far to the kitchen. She could definitely make it. But she doesn’t, because she’s a responsible adult. And because Tom would kill her.

Tom’s been…well, he’s been Tom. Emotional enough for three people, at least. Which doesn’t help, but that’s how he is. It hurts to know he’s hurting, and feeling helpless at the other end of the world. And so every time he’s being overbearing in his urge to protect her and their little Hiddleston Vol. 2, Hanna reminds herself that he loves her and that it’s killing him not to be there for her.

Every time they talk, he sounds as worn-out and worried as she feels most of the time. And he looks like it too. Whenever he isn’t covered in layers of make-up, his eyes are red-rimmed and have dark circles under them, and she’d swear he’s lost a bit of weight.

Part of her desperately wants him here. Part of her thinks she’ll suffocate or snap right in two and start bawling if he’s here.

Ding.

Well, that will be SMS number 3256 or so from Tom for today, surely. Too tired and bored to roll her eyes, Hanna picks up her mobile, now password protected because Jamie is already a very curious little bundle of energy.

> I miss you. How are you, love?

Hanna wiggles with utmost care, feeling like a beached whale belly-up in the sand. Heavy, cranky, stuck in one place. And yeah, like a fish out of the water, even if whales technically aren’t fish.

Frustration makes her reply somewhat less loving than it could be.

> Still the same as when you texted me 20 minutes ago.

It’s a miracle Tom hasn’t been fired yet, what with him spending half of his day texting or calling her. He’s even offered to have little Jamie flown over so he could be out of Hanna’s way, crawl all around the set while a nanny keeps a watchful eye.

But truth be told, Jamie is what keeps her sane these days. He drains her of what little energy she has left, but he also makes her smile and hang on and feel a little more human. And needed. Useful. God, she hates being so still and such a burden, no matter how many times her wonderful mother-in-law tells her she doesn’t mind one bit that she gets to ‘play mom and grandmom in one’ for some time.

It’s a nice thing of Diana to say. And of course, Hanna appreciates it. But ‘play mom and grandmom’ doesn’t mean Hanna feels comfortable being cared for. All day, every day.

And no matter how much Diana cares for Jamie, not being able to pick up her son or to play with him in his room, that hurts.

Her phone pings again.

> I’m glad to hear that. How’s Little Hiddleston doing?

The nicest thing Hanna comes up with is,

> I don’t know. Can’t see him if I can’t stand up.

How is Jamie doing anyway? Hanna shifts in her bed again. She’s allowed to go to the toilet, so going to the kitchen to fetch a juice? That would surely do.

So Hanna rather heavily shifts to the side of the bed and gets up, holding herself a little bit because she feels light headed like almost always.

She huffs. Tom would kill her if he found out. But he wouldn’t. Because a trip to the kitchen takes her five minutes tops.

She’d be fine.

Getting to her feet–which she can’t see because of her beached whale belly bump, and which she almost isn’t sure she has even more because she’s not allowed to walk around–takes longer than she’d like it. But she gets there, allowing herself the tiniest of triumphant grins.

She feels a little like an adventurer from times long gone. Beyond the horizon lie unchartered lands, perils lurking at every corner, but achievements beckoning. Only that the horizon is the door of her room and that her only achievement will be getting her own juice.

Tom would appreciate that comparison, Hanna thinks idly to herself while she wobble-waddles to the door one step at a time. He’d snap into Captain Conrad mode. She can almost hear his growly “let me list all the ways you’re going to die”.

If only he weren’t such a protective mother hen–well, the expression father cock just won’t do–then she could let him know and they’d have a nice chuckle over it. But Tom probably hasn’t chuckled for weeks.

With a sigh, Hanna steps into the corridor. A hand pressed to the sore small of her back and one braced against the wall for support, she approaches the kitchen.

There’s not a sound to be heard. Diana has gone to the supermarket for some much-needed grocery shopping–something else that Tom doesn’t know. He’d probably freak out and insist that his mom stays by her side while he hires someone to do their goddamn shopping.

Hanna’s hand is on the handle of the kitchen door when there IS a sound–Jamie in his room next door, apparently awoken from his afternoon nap to whimper and whine a bit.

What kind of mother would she be, if she didn’t go to the next room to check on her child?

Hanna doesn’t even think about it, but goes straight to - well, shuffles to - Jamie’s room. She hasn’t been in there for ages and she misses it. The Disney pictures painted on the wall make her feel at least as good as Jamie, if not better.

Her little boy is sitting up in his bed, babbling away, then spots her with wide blue eyes. A grin stretches over his face as tiny hands make grabby motions for Hanna.

“Mama, mama, mama, mama,” he chants, climbs from his bed with his pampers-covered butt first, and then tiny feet come running towards her.

Before Jamie can crash into her, Hanna holds up a finger. He stops immediately. “Be careful, little Hiddleston, no crazy games with Mama, right?”

The little boy looks at her, still grinning and nodding his head full of blonde curls. “Jajajaja,” he says and nods eagerly.

Hanna almost cries seeing her baby boy happy and laughing and grinning. At least one person in this house has fun.

She holds out her hand and he grabs it with his tiny one. “You wanna go get some juice with Mama?”

Jamie nods and almost wants to start running again, when Hanna whispers a “slow down” to him. She has to hide her laugh when Jamie walks overly cautious and in slow motion.

They’ll just have to wait in the kitchen together for Diana to come back. Sitting down would do for now.

She’s beginning to feel the strain–but the stubborn streak in her and the mother in her are stronger, and so she grits her teeth and walks on.

Thank god, there’s a juice bottle with a glass sitting right on the kitchen table, on the tray that Diana usually brings into her room. Hanna shuffles over, lets go of Jamie’s hand and sits down in aching, groaning stages. Wide-eyed, Little Hiddleston watches her. He’s already got that intensity in his eyes that the infant version of Tom used to have. She hasn’t got a clue how she’ll survive two of these men once Jamie is a little older, but she already knows that she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Me up?”

Regret stabs her. “No, Jamie. Mama can’t lift you, remember? You wanna come close and lean against me?”

Face crestfallen and pouty, Little Hiddleston Vol. 1 toddles over and leans against her leg, wrapping his little arms around it. “Mama juice. ‘amie also juice.”

Well. Who’d have thought that simply sharing a glass of juice with her son would be such a complicated feat? She shouldn’t lift him up, and she shouldn’t bend down. And Jamie definitely shouldn’t climb onto the chair himself. Bloody hell, she HATES being so useless and helpless.

Determined to solve this, she takes a fortifying sip of the tart fruitiness and then lowers her hand with the glass as far as she can. If she tips it right, he should be able to drink from it, right? She doesn’t think she should get up again and fetch his plastic cup. Careful now, no spilling.

Jamie catches the drift, leaning over and managing to drink a sip when she tilts the glass enough. But apparently, the little trickle isn’t enough for her son. He grabs for the glass–and sets a chain reaction in motion that Hanna somehow sees as if in horrified slow motion.

In his eagerness, he grabs hard and sloshes juice over Hanna’s hand as well as himself. The wetness makes Jamie recoil, which in turn makes him stumble over her foot and topple backward. Hanna reacts on instinct, jerking forward to grab his flailing arm before he could fall and crack his head on the floor.

The next thing she knows, there’s a jab of pain inside her and her vision swims for an instant.

Hanna hisses and groans, which makes Jamie look at her startled and surprised. One arm still in his mother’s hold, he pats her leg with his other hand.

“Mama hurt? ‘amie not.” He shakes his head as if to reassure her, but with the pain ripping in her stomach, Hanna can’t really appreciate it. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She just wanted a glass of juice damn it.

In her befuddled mind she somehow wonders who will clean that mess up, it will surely stick if they wait for Diana? What a strange thing to focus on.

So, Hanna focuses on breathing instead. Which isn’t half as easy as it sounds. She’s felt this kind of pain before. Twice. When Little Hiddleston Vol. 1 made his entrance into the world, as well as four weeks ago when this disaster started.

The difference between labour pains and this is that when your body prepares for “normal” labour, the pain starts, stops and is gone for a while.

This is different. It takes longer and the breaks in between are shorter. God, she has to lie down. Or not faint, that would be a start.

Trying to make her voice as soothing as possible, she lets go of Jamie’s arm and ruffles his hair instead.

“Jamie, would you… can you…” She swears silently. “You want to bring Mama the big phone?”

He just shakes his head. He surely can see the pain on Hanna’s face and his hand grabs her leg a little tighter.

“Oh, but you would help Mama so very, very much. Mama wants to call Granny.”

Jamie seems to understand, nods once and waddles over to the phone. All while Hanna tries to breathe through the pain, which isn’t really helping. Not at all.

Just as Jamie comes back, there are keys rattling in the door.

Hanna’s sigh of relief is swallowed by Jamie’s yelling of “Gannie” and the blackness that slowly creeps up at the side of her vision.

Not fainting would be great right now, she thinks to herself as she holds on to the table with a white nuckled grip.

* * *

Tom should be concentrating on his script. A new scene was added in yesterday, and they need to film it today–but damn him if he can focus at the moment.

It’s been more than 30 minutes since he sent Hanna another message, and there’s still no answer. It never takes her so long to reply.

Staring a hole in his silent phone, Tom rubs his temple. Perhaps she’s fallen asleep? But he knows his wife; sure, she’s bored and weak and grumbly, but she never falls asleep during daytime. She doesn’t even nap. Battery low? Unlikely, her phone’s charging by the bed all the time. He re-checks for the fifth time in a row. Nope, not meal time or bath time. Is little Jamie with her? Is she so annoyed with the situation and with Tom now that she won’t even reply with a terse text?

“Fuck it all.” Tom crumbles the paper in his hand and hurls it at the dustbin, missing it narrowly because he’s so upset that even his usually perfect aim is screwed up.

He hates it that Hanna is suffering. And that he’s a useless emotional wreck, miles and miles away. He can’t eat, can’t sleep, even fumbles his lines sometimes.

Tom gets up and heaves a sigh. Maybe they shouldn’t have tried for a Little Hiddleston Vol. 2. But as soon as he’s thought that, his gut clenches. The little girl in Han’s stomach is already part of his life, has stolen his heart before birth just like her brother. How can he even think that?

Picking up the crumpled paper, Tom smoothes out the wrinkles. He shouldn’t be freaking out, dammit. Hanna’s holding it together so well, so why can’t he?

“Get a grip, Thomas William Hiddleston,” he mutters to himself, imitating his mom’s tone. She’s been a blessing, as she’s so often been in his life. He should focus on that, shouldn’t he? Hold on to the positive little things. The situation could be so much worse.

He leans his forehead against the window, seeking the cold, reassuring hardness of the glass against his perpetually throbbing forehead.

His phone chimes the melody of the ringtone he’s reserved for Hanna (that German song “Die Da” that Hanna rapped when he first went to meet her parents years ago), startling him into dropping the paper. Why would she call him after not texting for so long?

Worry clogs up his throat, robbing his breath.

* * *

“F…fine,” Hanna gasps out. She has no idea what she’s saying herself, she just wants this pain to stop. “’m fine.”

“Oh darling,” Diana coos from the other side of the table. “I’m sorry, but you’re not. Damn it, mailbox,” she then mutters.

Her mother-in-law is right. Hanna’s far from fine. That’s why Jamie is currently sitting in front of the tv with cartoons from Netflix, it’s why Diana’s called the ambulance, and it’s why the woman in front of her tries to reach Tom.

It is also why the fingernails in the palm of Hanna’s hand slowly draw blood as well as the teeth in Hanna’s lower lip.

Her phone chimes with the melody of Bare Neccessities and Hanna groans, the blood rushing in her head almost making her miss Diana’s greeting of, “It’s mum, don’t freak out.”

Then she seems to explain with quick words how an ambulance will arrive soon. Hanna has no idea what ‘soon’ is. For all she knows she’s been in this kitchen sometime between a few seconds and a few hours.

Then suddenly a phone is pressed against her and her husband’s voice shouts into her ear, making her wince.

“Kitchen?! How is this happening in the kitchen? WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP?” What a strange thing to bring up first when you hear about early labour. Has he heard of that?

Hanna groans, not so happy about not having passed out now. “Fine,” is all she manages, and then the phone is pulled away again and Diana says something.

Hanna has no idea, what. She isn’t even sure where she is at the moment. She just knows it hurts like hell.

* * *

Tom stares at the now silent phone in his hand as if he’s never seen a phone before. For a long, panicky moment, his brain won’t work. At all. He isn’t sure of his name, whether he’s breathing, where he is.

Why is he clutching his phone so tightly?

And then suddenly it all comes rushing back, and he gasps in a shuddering breath that is also a strangled sound of pain.

Hanna. Oh dear god, his Hanna. Words tumble around inside his head, and with them images so horrible it feels as if he’s the got jagged glass shards of a broken dream cutting into his skull. Surely he’s bleeding inside.

Bleeding. Oh god, oh god, no, he should not be thinking of bleeding. Hanna!

It’s too fucking early for her to deliver their daughter. Anger, despair and gut-wrenching pain war inside him. The face reflected in the window surely can’t be his. It doesn’t look like him at all.

Tom snaps into action, dialing and pressing the phone to his ear with a shoulder while whirling around the room to toss a few things into the open suitcase. He has no idea how he manages to let his agent know that he has to leave for England on the next plane.

Time flies by and at the same time drags on, every minute another minute where he can’t be by Hanna’s side. When his phone dings with a message, he drops it in his haste, cursing. It’s his mother, informing him that the ambulance has taken Hanna to hospital.

Why the fuck is he here when she needs him at home?

Tom bumps his hip into the corner of a cupboard while trying to close his half-packed suitcase, and the pain brings a tiny bit of clarity. If he leaves in this state, he’ll endanger himself. It’s the last thing Hanna needs now. But breathing and thinking is so damn hard right now. Still, rushing won’t help anyone, especially as there won’t be any flights to London available right now.

Reacting on instinct, he walks into the bathroom and steps into the shower, clothes and all. He turns the water to icy cold, then to scalding hot, hoping it’ll help him trick his brain and body into working, at least on auto-pilot. He tilts his head into the spray, clenching his jaw and letting the water mix with the tears he can’t hold back.

Tom doesn’t know just how long he stands there under the water. He just knows that he’s wet to the bone and should probably change before leaving his room.

He also registers that three new messages come in while he’s crying and trying to calm himself at the same time. Still, that image of Hanna in pain and delivering a baby won’t leave his frazzled brain.

As soon as he’s a little more functioning, Tom steps out of the shower to check his phone. One message is from his PA for the movie, who informs him that the next available flight will leave in four hours.

Huh, strange, Tom doesn’t even have any recollection of asking for help. His thoughts don’t linger on that, though.

Four hours… that means if he’s lucky he’s going to see his wife in twelve hours. Half a day in which he won’t be by her side while she’s in pain. Or worse… Tom chokes on a sob and drags himself away from those thoughts.

The other two messages are from his mum. They gave her something and try to stop the contractions and Jamie is fine. You just see that there’s a plane and try to keep calm.

Jamie! He didn’t even think of his son.

To be fair, Tom is also currently dripping all over the carpet, wearing the clothes that are wet from the shower. But where was Jamie? What did he see? And why the ever loving fuck was his wife in the kitchen?

Anger wells up inside him. Okay. There’ll be time to answer those questions. The priority right now is to get to Han and see her and hopefully not to deliver his daughter today.

* * *

Hanna clings to the few moments of painless clarity in between the contractions. They gave her something, did a lot of other somethings to her, but she’s stopped really noticing or trying to make sense of things. She needs her full focus to hang onto sanity. Her mind is a jumble of pain, fear, prayers and desperate bargains of the sort of “if you let my daughter live and be born at the right time, I’ll give up all my favourite things, I’ll never eat chocolate again, I promise, just please save her”.

Every few moments, she blinks to attention and tries to grab someone’s hand or sit and demand information. But mostly she murmurs and half-shouts names and works on breathing.

Tom. Jamie. Tom! Their baby. Her parents! Has someone told her Mama and Papa? And where the hell is Tom? She doesn’t even care whether he’ll be angry with her. He needs to be here. Right now. Forever.

She must’ve said something out loud between hysterical sobs that are getting less after some more medication. Diana hovers in her periphery, and fingers squeeze her own.

“He knows, my darling. Don’t worry. He’ll be here so fast and shout up such a ruckus you’ll wish you hadn’t cried for him.”

* * *

Eventually, the medication works. “For now,” as the doctors have told Hanna and Diana, who stays by Hanna’s side through it all.

Jamie is with Emma, Hanna’s learned, didn’t even make a fuss. Well, at the moment she’s more than fine with that.

Han is not allowed to move. So much she understands. They’ve given her more something something or the other to make the contractions stop, they’ve given her painkillers she would die for after she’s been sure she saw a pink elephant fly by.

But they don’t make the thoughts that start running through her head stop.

It’s her fault, isn’t it? She doesn’t even need an angry Tom to tell her as much. She shouldn’t have been up, she shouldn’t have walked, Diana should have been there, Hanna shouldn’t have been with Jamie.

Then she would be bored out of her mind now, but at home. Here little girl wouldn’t be in danger, and Hanna would simply send another annoyed text to Tom.

By the tired look on Diana’s face Hanna can see they’ve been here a long time probably. “What time is it?” she murmurs.

Diana looks at the watch on her wrist. “Half three. You should try and sleep, dear. And Tom should…”

Before she can continue, both women hear some ruckus outside the room.

And then Hanna makes out the voice of her husband, asking for her somewhere in the hallway, and her heart manages to stop and beat faster at the same time.

* * *

Tom is in the worst emotional state he thinks he’s ever been in. He hasn’t got a clue how he survived the long flight without killing anyone, mentally urging the plane to go faster and pacing like a caged lion. And he hasn’t got a clue how he managed not to strangle the paparazzi who’ve somehow got wind of his wife being admitted and are lurking outside the hospital.

If he’d been more himself, he’d have probably used them as an outlet to vent all the anger locked up inside him–but he barely saw them. Hanna is the only thing on his mind, and their as yet unborn daughter. Sure, his mom has kept him up to date and he knows the contractions have stopped. But until he’s seen it with his own eyes, held her in his arms, nothing is right.

He doesn’t register a few nurses talking to him and bursts through the hospital room door where his mother freezes mid-rising.

Hanna lies in the bed, connected to all sorts of…of things. She looks fragile, and it’s as if someone has taken a sledgehammer to Tom’s ribcage. He can almost hear the bones cracking, feel them cave in to lie his heart bare, ready to be smashed into a bloody pulp raw with anguish. She’s never looked so fragile and unsure before. She shouldn’t be looking like this.

Emotions thrash around inside him. Tom doesn’t know up from down, left from right, only realizes his feet carry him forward.

“What the fuck were you doing in the fucking kitchen? Why the fuck would you do this to me, to us?”

And then he’s beside her and hugging her, clutching desperately at the only thing he’s not afraid to touch (her arms) and jostling both their bodies with his sobs.

Hanna’s sure she’s never seen Tom like this. His eyes are red rimmed, his clothes rumbled and his hair is a mess. He’s got a stubble worth a few days. Shouldn’t he have at least shaved for his movie?

All this Hanna registers in the few seconds it takes Tom to move towards her.

Then she’s crashed by Tom’s body. And honestly, he doesn’t ask anything that she hasn’t asked herself.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

She’s been holding back the tears for so long now, but now they start flowing. Tom’s shaking against her, she’s shaking against him.

“So fucking stupid, so stupid,” he mumbles.

“God, I know. Sorry.” At any other times, Hanna would have made a sassy comment. But she doesn’t. She’s sure she feels guilty enough for the two of them.

“Why? Why would you…”

Now Hanna hears Diana’s voice behind Tom. “Thomas, stop with that.”

Hanna stares open-mouthed–wondering dimly whether whatever medication they’re giving her induces hallucinations–as Tom whirls around to unleash an anger she never knew he could carry inside him. Isn’t there a saying that the quiet people are the most dangerous and powerful when they do snap? It’s true because she can practically feel Tom radiating righteous fury.

“No, Mom.” He says it quietly but with such a growly, intensity that Diana (and Hanna) flinch. “Do not tell me to stop. I’ve got a fucking right to be angry. You know how much I tolerate, how I mind my manners every bloody time. But enough is enough.”

He whirls back, dashing the still streaming tears from his cheeks. Jaw clenched, he paces, his voice cold and heated at once.

“Fucking hell, Hanna, I know you must’ve felt awful lying there all the time. But what the fuck where you thinking? Have you listened to the doctors at all? I did. And I read all those goddamn pamphlets and books and watched a dozen videos…and they’ve left me dead scared. Terrified of what might happen. To you and to our daughter. Did you consider that at all?”

Tom stalks closer, jabbing a finger at her, his eyes dark and roiling with fury–and with such a huge dose of hurt that Hanna swallows down all her stammered retorts.

“All you had to do was lie in that fucking bed and stay calm for another few weeks. Do you have any idea how much worse off some women are? How many try to conceive and would kill or cheerfully cut out their own heart to have a baby? And you can’t toughen up and take a bit of bedrest?”

“Thomas.” Diana sounds shocked and warning in equal measure, as if even she as his mother has rarely seen him explode.

Tom glares at her, then at Hanna, who’s cowering despite the discomfort. “That was the stupidest, most selfish thing you’ve ever done. You risked two lives for a bloody glass of juice and ten steps around the house. Two lives! Fuck, make that three because I sure as hell won’t survive it if anything happened to you. And what about Jamie, huh?” Now his voice has risen, high and trembling and striking like a whip.

Somewhere, a machine beeps as Hanna winces and tries to breathe. “So sorry,” she repeats. “Please, Tom. Please…”

So suddenly that it makes her gasp, Tom crumbles. All the anger gives way to anguish again, and it’s much more difficult to handle. He drops to his knees in front of the bed and presses his face into the bedding, one hand grasping Hanna’s so tightly she can’t feel her fingers.

“God, Hanna, why? You’re my life. I just…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be angry, but…I…I can’t bear losing you or our children. I can’‘t.” His voice breaks, and then he’s sobbing again, making sounds of distress that wrack her whole batttered body.

She wants to say sorry again, but knows that it probably wouldn’t change much. So Hanna keeps quiet and lets the tears fall from her eyes.

Seeing Tom like this is almost worse than the pain that pierced her stomach earlier. If she wasn’t so afraid for her daughter, it would be worse.

Hanna hears a click and looks up, seeing that Diana’s left the room. To either give them some privacy or because she can’t see her son like that either.

But Hanna deserves to see him like this, it’s her own fault after all.

A sob leaves her as she hears Tom’s strangled, “Don’t leave me,” mumbled into the mattress.

“I won’t, I promise. I’ll… I’ll try everything.”

“Why did you do it?” Now, he’s looking at her and Hanna almost wishes back the pain to not deal with this.

“I don’t… I thought going to the kitchen wouldn’t be worse than going to the bathroom. I… I know you think I’ll just have to toughen up, but Tom… Diana was the only one who could see Jamie in his room and he wasn’t even allowed to cuddle with me properly. And I was thirsty and… And I’ve heard Jamie in his room… what… what kind of mother am I if I can’t even give my son a drink?! I…”

Hanna hears a beeping sound again and sees Tom look at the machines. “You need to calm down okay? I’m sorry. You are tough. The strongest person I know. But you need to calm down now.”

He leans towards her, his forehead resting against hers, his breath tickling her lips, and his hand cradling her cheek.

“So sorry,” Hanna sobs against him, her breathing a little strangled, but she’s trying her best to calm down.

“It’s okay. You’re going to be fine, everyone is going to be safe.”

* * *

_5 weeks later_

Hanna wakes up with a start and a gasp, blinking in the half-dark. What’s wrong? Why isn’t she sleeping?

The bedroom lights are on, dimmed to a warm glow that’s enough to make things out. They decided to be on the safe side ever since Hanna was sent home. She’s spent a month confined to her room and bed again, with Tom only ever leaving his side if he needs to use the bathroom or goes into the kitchen to get something for her.

Diana has been around for a while. Emma visited just last week. Sarah has been video-calling her, as has her father, who was too busy–and is too scared of flying–to visit. Her mother flew here to visit her at the hospital, all her bills paid by Tom, who refused to have it any other way. She’ll be flown in again in another two weeks when Hanna’s delivery date is close.

She turns her head to her sleeping husband. Tom is lying sprawled on his stomach, his face buried in the pillow, one hand protectively curled around her bicep. He’s been doing that a lot, clinging to her as if she’ll leave him. It’s almost as if her ‘episode’ five weeks ago scared him more than her.

Little Hiddleston Volume 2 decided to stay put for some more time, and Tom hasn’t left her side in all this time. He’s such a fussing father and husband that she wants to kick him sometimes–but every minute of annoyance in between is worth it because he’s simply the best. It took him two full days to stop asking “why?!” and being angry, but ever since he, hasn’t mentioned the incident again. He keeps talking to her and to her huge baby belly. He is wonderful with Jamie and brings him into the room often. And he’s amazing at reading to her so she drifts into sleep despite her constant discomfort.

It isn’t unusual for her to wake up in the middle of the night–but something feels off this time. Why is she feeling instantly panicky and tense?

Her answer comes to her in the form of searing pain that makes her suppress a yelp and clutch her stomach. She waits, barely breathing. Then doubles over in another bout of pain.

Oh god. Oh no, oh no, oh no. It’s too early for this!

Tom is literally jostled awake, his fuzzy sleep-filled brain doesn’t understand why.

Sure, since that scare more than a month ago, he’s barely sleeping deeply as he did before. Every small movement that’s out of habit jerks him awake.

But his body always seems to make sure that it’s getting the right amount of sleep to at least be there for Hanna every day.

He’s put production for the movie on hold, it’s not a leading role this time anyway, and he’s told the producers they could replace him. They refused, stating that a wife in early labour isn’t a reason to fire someone.

So, what startled him awake? Blinking, he slowly turns, until he hears a sharp intake of breath from beside him.

His body is awake in an instant, making him sit up in bed straight away.

His brain is a little slower, but Han’s mumbled whispers of “Oh god, oh god” manage to wake Tom up.

“What is it?” he asks her, rather forcefully. Stupid question, it’s their Volume 2 of course. It’s always been these last couple of months.

“It’s too early, Tom.”

His wife looks at him with panic in her eyes, Tom’s thinking is still muffled by sleep though. Honestly, that’s the only reason he answers with a quite dumb “Yeah, it’s half two,” after checking the clock on the night stand.

Han still manages to roll her eyes, which is rather impressive considering the panicky look. “It’s labour, Tom. I’m pretty,” she stops, her eyes shut tightly and her hand grasping his, “sure these are contractions. For real.”

Tom’s face goes through so many different expressions in the span of a few seconds that Hanna forgets the pain for a bit. Then his jaw drops and his eyes widen.

“Oh god. But…but…it’s too early!” His voice rises an octave and he swallows convulsively.

Hanna feels a lot like saying “no shit, Sherlock” but another contraction robs her of breath to speak.

Chanting “oh my god” softly under his breath, Tom bolts off the bed. Trying to catch her breath, Hanna watches him fumble with his phone for several calls while he whirls around the room to grab her already packed hospital bag and throw on some clothes.

After what feels like half an eternity later but is a dizzy blur of movement and sounds, Tom kneels by the bed and cradles her sweaty face in both hands. “How are you feeling, Han?”

She wheezes and whimpers. “Torn between delivering the baby right here and right now so it’s over with, and wanting to kill you.”

He’s so distressed he doesn’t even chuckle, only nods frantically and then drops a kiss on her head. “Let’s get you to the hospital then, love. Don’t panic. Just don’t panic.” But his voice sounds panicky enough for two.

“I’ll try,” she answers instead of a clever comment, and all Tom does is to nod again.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Hanna is honestly just happy that she’s decided to sleep in the same clothes she wears every day. Or wear the same clothes she sleeps in? Ever since her last stay in the hospital, she’s decided it’s probably for the best to always be prepared.

The pain of the contraction still lingers a bit, but Hanna can already feel that this time it’s different. Not like five weeks ago, but not quite like with Jamie either. Jamie! It’s the middle of the night, what are they supposed to do with Jamie?

Oh, she thinks a moment later. Diana’s still here.

Tom still kneels in front of her, looking a little too pale for Hanna’s taste. Great. They’ll both be a mess then.

“Hey,” she whispers, now a little more like herself as she’s able to breathe again. Tom looks up at her with the try of a smile. “We’ve done this before, right? No need to panic, correct?”

He swallows. “Right.” Tom takes a few deep breaths himself, then smiles a little more. “Let’s get you moving then.”

They stand together, Hanna holding on tight, as they leave their bedroom. “Wake your mum,” she whispers as Tom almost walks past the guestroom door. “She might want to know about this.”

“Oh god. Please don’t tell her I forgot her.”

Hanna’s snicker is interrupted by another shot of pain. She grabs at Tom’s arm, pretty sure she sees him wince as well.

“I won’t,” she pants, “if you get me to that damn hospital as fast as you can.”

Tom nods and keeps his promise as he softly knocks on Diana’s door, whispers something to her, then guides Hanna along and after getting them both wrapped in jackets, leads her to the car.

He needs a whole minute to get the gear right and then kills the engine, before they’re on the road.

“We don’t speak about that either,” he says before Hanna can even take a breathe to let out a laugh.

It’s a miracle he can drive at all, Tom thinks to himself, his hands holding the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip.

Sure, they’ve done this before, but the last time was different. Jamie didn’t come too early, and he wasn’t a risk pregnancy. Hanna was in a much better state…and so was he.

“Breathe. Remember your counting,” he reminds his distressed wife, flinching when her fingers dig into his thigh for support.

“Harhar.” Her sarcasm is interrupted by a gasp. “Says the one who…ow, goddammit…can’t count to save his life.”

Tom finds it in himself to chuckle half-heartedly and takes a turn rather too fast. He can manage basic counting fine, thank you very much. But he rather wishes he couldn’t, because he knows it’s only been 35 weeks. That makes their little daughter (moderately) premature, although not so early that her survival changes are in jeopardy.

With a heavy swallow, Tom tries to take his mind off all the books and pamphlets he’s been reading. If Little Hiddleston Volume 2 really is born today, she’ll be a little too small and underweight. She might have feeding problems or resporatory distress. She might easily get too hot or too cold as she’s not fully able to regulate her body temperature. God, will she be at risk of catching some disease or other? Will they have to keep her in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit)?

“Tom?”

His head snaps around, half-expecting Hanna to tell him she’ll give birth right now, here in the car.

“Y-yes?!”

“Could you…” Gasp. “Try not to look as if you’re going to die from a panick attack? I’m…ughhhhh…sort of trying not to lose my shit here.”

Hanna’s plea makes him forget all the horrible things that could go wrong for a moment.

If his wife is able to push a baby out, he can surely forget his panic and hold her hand for a few hours, right?

Right. Except that she probably won’t be pushing, since it’s safer to cut his baby girl out. Yeah, he swallows, maybe not think about cutting either.

“You’re still doing it, Tom,” Hanna pants next to him.

“Sorry. Sorry, you’re right.” He digs her nails out of his thigh to hold her hand and squeeze it for a moment when he lets go of the steering wheel. “Everything will be fine.”

“Yes,” Hanna answers when they can see the hospital entrance from afar. “Of course.”

Tom squeezes her hand again. “I’ll make sure of it.” He doesn’t have any idea how, though. There’s really not much he can do.

If he hated that part when Jamie was born, it almost kills him now. He’s not used to feeling so helpless, seeing his wife in pain while another life is on the line.

And all he can do is stand next to her, trying to breathe in and out with her.

“Han, I love you,” he blurts out as they come to a stop.

“I love you too.”

* * *

And then it’s all a blur, and Tom just keeps repeating “I love you” to Hanna, feeling as helpless as if he was a newborn baby.

The doctors performed test after test, freaking him out thoroughly. And now there’s all this talk about Hanna delivering their daughter the natural way because Little Hiddleston Volume 2 decided to finally turn herself the right way round. So even though she’s early, a C-section won’t be necessary.

“You have to stay!” Hanna wails in between panting breaths, clutching his hand so tightly that Tom’s pretty sure he’ll break a bone soon.

“Certainly, love, it’ll all be fine, you’ll be fine,” he murmurs automatically, then jolts out of the haze with a panicky jerk and squeak. “I what?! No, no, no. Jesus, no. Not if you don’t want to have you husband admitted to hospital because he fainted and banged his head while you gave birth.”

They’ve been through this before. When it was time for Jamie to enter this world, they both decided it’s best for Tom to wait outside because the last thing Hanna needs is more stress.

Hanna’s grip on his fingers tightens even more and she somehow manages to shoot daggers at him during another contraction while the nurses fuss and smother grins.

“I swear to God, Thomas William Hiddleston, you’re going to fucking stay right here and let me break your hand while I’m letting your stubborn daughter have her way, or else.”

Gulping and sweating even more, Tom opens and closes his mouth. Seriously? He’s already feeling queezy at the thought of having to witness all the pain his wife is going through.

She doubles over with a wheeze, and he groans right along with her. When she lifts her face, her eyes are shiny and huge.

“Please? Tom, I need you with me this time.”

Well, hell. She’s got every damn right to demand his presence, he knows that. And if his wife needs him, he’ll fucking well make sure he can be there for her.

Resigning himself to making a fool of himself, Tom steps closer to the bed and clears his throat, eyes misty. “Of course I’ll stay if you need me to, Han. Now let’s get our overly eager little angel out, shall we?”

“Thank you,” she breathes, and suddenly feels oddly calm. Well, calmer, because honestly she’s scared as hell even if she’s done this before.

But it’s different and it hurts, and Hanna really isn’t sure how she’s going to handle this.

Not that Tom is that much of a help. At the moment he looks paler than she does probably, and Hanna wants to either smack him over the head or tell him to breathe, like he tells her every two minutes.

Well, when she crushes his hand he can try to breathe.

It’s probably her fear talking though, as for the moment all Hanna can do is to not hit her husband and to pray that their little - tiny at the moment - daughter literally makes it out alive.

“You want some ice chips?” Tom asks her then, rather suddenly for Hanna.

“No,” she grits out between puffy breaths. “You?”

He pales even more and Hanna almost wants to roll her eyes as the nurses in the room snicker at them. They excuse themselves pretty fast after that with the promise to come back in a few minutes.

Hanna leans back and lets out a frustrated sigh. “I want a drink.”

Tom is next to her immediately. “I can fetch some water.”

“No. I want a stiff one. Vodka or something.”

Hanna promises herself to squeeze Tom’s hand extra tight just for the laugh he lets out after she’s said it.

He probably shouldn’t laugh. He could do with a vodka too. Or two. Or three. Instead, he finds himself babbling in a bid to keep himself–and Hanna–sane.

“Did you know that vodka is either made out of grain like wheat or out of potatoes?”

“Don’t mention potatoes!” Hanna snaps rather too vehemently, making him blink.

“Since when do you hate potatoes so much that they make you sound murderous?”

The look she sends him makes him blink harder.

“Since you had to wear that stupid, ridiculously snuggeable black cardigan and film potato porn in your kitchen.”

“Since I what?!” His voice sounds high and squeaky, something that seems to happen all the time now, dammit.

Somehow, she manages to huff and half-fold her arms across her heaving baby bulge, giving him a death glare. “You know what I mean. That goddamn Live Below the Line video where you flirted with your baked potato and couldn’t keep your damn hands to yourself. I’m pretty sure that’s when I fell in love with you. And look where the hell it led to!”

Her wail ends in a whimper as another contraction hits, and Tom is too dumbfounded to offer his hand for mauling.

But of course, he’s forced to as Hanna’s own hand shoots out and grabs his.

He winces again. But damn, it does hurt. He doesn’t tell her that though and instead looks caringly at his wife if he does say so himself.

Hanna must think differently. “You’re not thinking of potatoes now, are you?” The next moment it seems forgotten though, as Hanna lets out a string of curses. “Ow. Fuck, shit, damn, fuck. _Verdammt, scheiße, autsch._ ”

Ah, he’s experienced this with Jamie. A birth makes Hanna swear in German, just as being drunk does. Damn, shit and ow were the three words.

“So, when does your little angel decide to stop acting like her big brother and her father and stops being stubborn then?” Hanna asks.

Before he can either snicker - he should not do that - or answer her, the door flies open and in bursts the bubbly persona of their doctor, Dr Gina, a middle-aged, brunette woman.

“Let’s find out, yes?” she says before she points at Tom. “You may want to stay at the upper half of the bed.”

He does as told, better not risk fainting too early and looks at Han instead. He strokes her hand with his thumb, hoping to calm her and himself as he’s always done when they checked on her.

“Well, you’re developing nicely. The heart beat is as expected and the angle’s still right. Now, we wait and see how fast you continue. Could be anything from half an hour to well…more.”

* * *

As it turns out, it’s more. Decidedly more. It feels like at least a year to Hanna, but Tom assures her it’s ‘only’ been nine hours of labour.

After her umpteenth time of cursing in German–she’s pretty sure she’s invented a few new swearwords–Hanna indicates for Tom to move to her other side. They’ve been doing this once an hour so she doesn’t quite succeed in breaking Tom’s hand(s).

“I swear, I’ve head enough of you Hiddlestons,” she grouses, her voice hoarse and her body bathed in multiple layers of sweat.

Tom looks all chagrined and apologetic but she doesn’t let him get a word in. “Fist you with your fucking charm and ultra-brilliant smile and unfair body. I should NEVER have let myself be fooled. Such a gentleman and oh so eager to make life heaven for everyone–but look what you’ve put me through, it’s hell. Huh, I won’t even mention the papparazzi and scandal and all the hate. Nope, you had to get me pregnant twice. Fucking twice, as if once isn’t bad enough! And your children are just as bad as you. Damn you all, why do I have to love you so?!”

Tom splutters and mutters and uses his free hand to brush sweat-soaked hair from her face. “I…uhm…you…we…I’m sorry, Han.” Something flashes in his eyes, which have gone through all shades of terror and care during the ast hours. The bastard has the nerve to attempt a grin. “Might I remind you, though, that it was you who suggested making a Little Hiddleston Volume 2?”

“Oh, just you wait, just you wait until I’ve pushed this little she-devil out, and I’ll personally wring your neck with my own hands. Now get on the bed.”

His jaw drops. “What?!”

“You heard me, Hiddleston. Get on this fucking bed with me and man up. I think it’s finally time.”

And then there’s too much pain to speak, as she dimly registers Tom shouting for a nurse and climbing onto the bed to hold her, though he seems to be shaking more than her.

As he sits on the bed behind his wife with Hanna leaning her back against his chest, both of her hands having a dead grip on Tom’s, he feels as helpless as never before. He’s sure he’s sweating more than Hanna at this point which either shows how strong she is or how weak he is. He’d like to go with the first option.

On the other side of the bed, right in front of them are Dr Gina and three nurses. All of them look decidedly busy and talk amongst each other. Tom has no idea what they’re saying though.

“You’re doing great, Han, you’re doing absolutely great,” he whispers in her ear, the only thing he can do right now really - besides not fainting and holding her. Good that he’s so great at not shutting up.

“Still hate you,” his wife whispers back, and this time Tom allows himself to grin.

“I know.”

“So, Hanna,” the doctor calls out, making Tom’s head jerk up and look to her. “You’ve made a good call, you’ve opened enough and the heartbeat is still strong and we can finally get your eager little daughter out, okay?”

“Okay,” Hanna grits out, her hold on Tom getting even stronger. How does she do that?

“Good.”

* * *

It’s all a blur of voices from there, Tom breaking out of his stupor only when Dr Gina addresses him directly. “Tom, I want you to sit up with Hanna, give her as much space to lean against you as you can. And Hanna, I want you to take a deep breath for me and for your little girl. And when I say push, you push and don’t stop until I tell you to.”

Now, he really feels like fainting, but Hanna just nods, and together they sit up a little more.

“Okay. And push for me, Hanna.”

She does and it all becomes blurry again. The noises Hanna makes are far from human, Tom thinks, he whispers sweet nothings into her ear and has to use all of his strenght to hold them up while Hanna leans heavily against him.

And then suddenly he registers something. This is it. Not much longer and their daughter will be there, after a lot of waiting and admittedly two and a half months from hell.

But they’re really going to meet their Little Hiddleston Volume Two in a few minutes.

Tom gasps a little as he realises, Hanna in a short break between contractions thinking that it means something different. “Don’t you dare fainting on me now,” she groans.

“No,” Tom answers. “No, I don’t think I will.”

He really doesn’t, and feels ridiculously proud even though he knows full well that Hanna is doing a way more difficult and important job and should deserve all the praise in the world, perhaps in the universe.

There’s a lot of screaming and whimpering and cursing, panting and pushing. Tom loses all track of time. One moment, it feels as if they’ve been doing this for a day at least; the next moment, he’s certain it’s only been a minute, and surely things can’t happen that fast.

Then there’s so much pain on his squeezed hands that he forgets cooing to his wife.

But still, he doesn’t faint–and he’s mighty glad he doesn’t, because the next thing that penetrates the haze is a tiny squeal followed by a hearty and very indignant yell that turns into a choked wail.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Hiddleston. You’ve got a healthy little daughter,” the doctor announces.

And now Tom does feel faintish. Or maybe it’s just because he’s getting feeling back in his hands and tears of joy are misting his eyes.

All of the sudden the pain is gone, and Hanna hears the cry of their little daughter. A cry that definitely sounds healthy.

Tears shoot into her eyes, mixing with the sweat as Hanna leans back against Tom, feeling at least fifty different emotions - exhaustion and joy and love being three of them.

“You’ve made it,” she hears next to her, and Hanna is sure she can also hear a sniffle.

She nods. “She made it.”

And then Dr Gina hands her a little - tiny - bundle, their daughter. “She seems healthy on the first glance. We allow you a minute, then we have to take her for examination while we work on you, Hanna. And when you’re both done, we’ll bring her back. For now, enjoy.”

And that’s when blue eyes stare up at Hanna’s face and she’s so much smaller than Jamie was, but a quick check confirms ten toes as well as ten fingers.

Hanna finds herself cooing. “Hello little one. Goodness, you’re really here.” She holds her against her chest, a finger stroking her little cheek.

From above her she hears Tom whisper, “I love you. Both of you.” His arms wrap around Hanna and he rests his chin on top of her head.

“I think she looks like you,” Hanna smiles. “Another mini-Tom running around.”

* * *

Hours later, Tom still can’t take his eyes off his two girls. Hanna looks exhausted but hasn’t stopped smiling since their daughter gave her first cry, and he’s sure his face will split in two soon because he’s also beaming non-stop.

Their tiny bundle of joy–currently sleeping like a very wee angel–was pronounced healthy, if somewhat underweight and at risk. She’ll need extra care, and Han will have to take things slow too, but Tom is on cloud nine anyway.

He keeps repeating “you did it”, “she’s here” and “I love you”, and doesn’t mind a bit that the nurses are giggling and cooing and that Hanna has that indulgent look on her face that he knows so well from his mum.

There’s a knock and then the door bursts open, admitting his mother. She’s carrying Jamie, who’s wriggling and bouncing and craning his neck.

“Mama, Papa!” he demands, and leaps down to run over. When he catches a glimpse of his little sister, he stops dead and stares, his eyes as big as saucers. Tom picks him up and cuddles him close, allowing him to place a big, sloppy kiss on Hanna’s (now cleaned) cheek.

His mom is next to them an instant later, dashing away a tear even as Tom feels himself tear up again.

“She’s a beautiful one,” she croons and sniffles. “A gift the two of you deserve. Have you decided on a name yet?”

Tom and Hanna share a look. “Vicky,” they say at the same time. His heart ready to burst out of his chest, he adds, “Victoria Hope Hiddleston.”


End file.
